


Genuine Normal

by en passant (corinthian)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian/pseuds/en%20passant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you notice,” Duo says, conversationally, “That we never do anything normally.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>A little get-together 1x2 for the GWFanwork Exchange on Tumblr for armedwithawkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Genuine Normal

“Did you notice,” Duo says, conversationally, “That we never do anything normally.”

The conversation’s topic is somewhat exacerbated by the fact that the two of them are crouched on the roof of an abandoned warehouse at three in the morning. Between them sits a thermos of coffee and a bag of grapes. Heero finds the new additions to their stakeout routine both welcome and an irritating reminder of how things have changed. Years ago, he wouldn’t have needed the warmth or the caffeine to keep awake. He would have found Duo’s companionship more of a bother than a welcome relief. In some ways, the times after the war had brought more conflicting emotions than he had ever imagined.

Their work with the Preventers was more delicate than their work with Gundams had ever been and at least half of it was bureaucracy that no one but Quatre seemed to be able to stand. Heero took every field mission he could, to stay away from being put on performance. He would always prefer to stand to the side as a guard than in the front as a symbol. And, he had found, Duo shared his preferences. Commander Une had called them The Odd Pair, but results were what mattered, so no one cared. There wasn’t really anyone who could match a Gundam pilot but another Gundam pilot, anyway, even if the Gundams themselves were long gone.

“Hm.” Is his contribution. The shipping dock lights remain off, the alleys between the large crates clear. He would welcome a distraction from Duo’s newfound normalcy missions. Re-integration and all. Duo hasn’t called them that, of course, but Heero’s mind had recategorized the conversations. Casual conversations. Silence fillers. Distraction babbling. Normalcy missions. Duo talked a lot, but there was a code and cadence to his speech that always meant something else. Sometimes for other people, sometimes for Duo himself.

“I mean, what’s today?”

“Saturday, November 10th.” 

“Exactly.”

Duo picks up three grapes and with deliberate carelessness eats all three at once. Heero focuses on the way Duo chews, mouth slightly open, eyes sneaking over to look at him every now and then. Duo’s expecting Heero to clue in.

“It’s not a remarkable day.”

“Exactly.” Duo grins and leans across the gap between them to bump his shoulder against Heero’s. The years after the war had tempered Heero’s reactions to such a gesture. Duo used to get bruises for it, but now he just gets a snort, the equivalent of an eye-roll. “It’s not remarkable at all. But, wouldn’t you say you and I are up there? Top-tier soldiers! _And_ , I might add, top-tier civilians. I even take my garbage out to the curb every week.”

“On average you violate seventeen traffic laws a month,” not that Heero was counting. It just so happened that in his spare time checking in on his comrades was far too easy. Relena every few days, Duo once a week at least, Trowa, Quatre and Wufei biweekly or so. It was as habitual as breathing. “Hardly top-tier.”

“You know, if you were Trowa I’d assume that was a joke. But since you’re you that’s just _cold_ , man!”

“It isn’t a joke.”

“Ahh, I said I knew already.” Duo sighs and bumps Heero’s shoulder again. “But you do get what I’m saying, right? Hard to tell sometimes with you. A little _’affirmative!’_ or _’negative, Captain Maxwell, you’re speaking in code!’_ would go a long way.”

“You want to hang out more,” Heero supplies. His eyes drift over the shipping yard again. It was unlikely that the target would come in tonight. But ‘just in case’ was always better than ‘we assumed and got bit by bad decisions’. He had certainly had enough mistakes for a lifetime.

“Bingo! Congratulations!” If he was a more unobservant person, Heero would have missed the way Duo’s smile tugs at the end, like a wince. It’s an expression he’s familiar with, cataloged into a list of quirks that correlate to the way Duo talks. A laugh and a grin that only shows a few teeth is a forced one, that Heero is sure of. Shoulders slumped and a loud sigh is exaggerated, but often to cover up real annoyance or hurt. The wincing smile was the nervousness that was so great even Duo couldn’t hide it.

Heero had never really understood nervousness. Hesitation, doubt, confusion. Those were all easily identified. Nervousness and anxiety he didn’t understand. 

“Why? We work together.” Heero saw Duo more than he saw almost any other human being. He had, and would, even easily admit to the familiarity that they shared. Their complimenting and conflicting habits worked well together. Heero is old enough to be able to examine his own shortcomings without measuring them as success or failure. And Duo, always, is more than just _can I_ or _can’t I_. Duo is a process. A dynamic. A familiar presence that seemed unattainable but constantly there.

And, Duo laughs. It’s quiet, because they are still on a stakeout, but it’s also quiet because it’s a genuine amused chuckle. There’s no hint of obscuring in his mirth.

“Why don’t we do something normal like a date, sometime.”

Heero looks over at Duo, who has found something extremely interesting to look at in the shipping yard. The wincing smile has made its return, marring his otherwise calm profile. The years had been kind to all of them and even the small aftershocks that came with the post-war world trying to find its feet had done nothing to hold them back. Duo’s face was still all curves, but the wicked boyishness had evened out to a more devil-may-care glint. 

There was something about Duo’s face that always caught Heero’s attention. He would have written it off as an unnecessary distraction, but it made him feel more alive.

“You’re asking me out,” Heero clarifies. He doesn’t look away from Duo, taking in every angle and small traitorous expressions Duo is trying to hide. The way Duo’s eyes drifted back to Heero, then darted away. The slight press of his lips. The barest hunch of the shoulders.

“Totally normal like, on a stakeout.” 

“The normal response would be?” It’s his own version of a joke, but Heero can tell it’s poorly timed. Duo frowns, briefly, because laughing — but this time it’s a little too loud.

“Just a yes or no question, Heero. I wouldn’t say no to something a little more physically acceptable, unless it’s a punch to the gut. Did anyone ever tell you that you hit like a Gundam?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so, wasn’t very original was it? Maybe I should mix it up . . . your fist feels like the impact of a colony on the Earth? That’s probably too soon. Gravitational force? Elephants? I bet you could take an elephant.” Heero let him babble. It often seemed to let Duo calm down, to run through a string of words and redirect attentions. He didn’t mind it, even if at first he had thought it seemed pretty ineffective. But more often than not it worked, resetting the atmosphere of any conversation to take the tone that Duo preferred or was more comfortable with.

“Yes, let’s go on a normal date.” Heero corrects, when Duo’s rambling slows and trails off.

“You know, I’ve never been on a normal date in my life. The last one I went on was probably planting explosives.” Duo’s grin is lopsided, still, but the flinching twitch at the corner of his mouth has disappeared. “You up for this? My inexperience will be obvious.”

“Mission accepted,” is Heero’s only half-solemn reply.

“Great, just great. Now if only we could stop watching nothing happen, this night would be perfect.”

Heero shifts, slowly and deliberately, taking care to be gentle, and bumps his shoulder against Duo’s. It startles Duo, who half-shies away before laughing at his own skittishness and leaning against Heero.

“Don’t startle me like that.”

Heero just snorts, but doesn’t try to pull away or push Duo off of him. It was quite different from the more familiar weights Heero was used to — the harness of a mobile suit, his gun tucked into his waistband or inner pocket of a jacket — but it wasn’t bad.

* * *

It isn’t the first time that they’ve technically gone out together, but it’s their first date. Heero thinks that earlier excursions most likely fell under the ‘gone out’ category. Simple things like food or entertainment, the trip to the home improvement store — but as Duo pointed out, none of them were particularly _normal_ outings. Half of their joint food or entertainment ventures had been to tail someone or scope out a location. The one time they had gone to pick up cleaning liquids like bleach had been to cook up some homemade chlorine gas.

Probably not date material.

He isn’t _entirely_ sure, though, that going hat shopping with Duo was actual date material either. But they had met in the park, exchanged hellos and Duo had dragged him down to the row of little boutiques. The hand to hand contact wasn’t unwelcome but it set this outing apart; again, they hadn’t done that before.

Neither of them had worn gloves. Heero could feel Duo’s callouses against his skin, and how their hands didn’t quite perfectly fit together; there was a gap between the valleys of their palms but their fingers twined together nicely enough.

“How’s this?” Duo turns, sporting a knit hat seated low on his skull. 

“The hat?”

“The _beanie_ , just look at it. A beautiful example of the _peak_ of comfortable fashion!” Duo waggles his finger at Heero. His braid is tucked up into the hat and without the swing of hair behind him somehow Duo looks like a different person.

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re just jealous, here!” Duo tosses him a matching hat. Heero catches it, almost on reflex. Then he reaches out, quickly, to lift the bottom of the beanie Duo is wearing and let his hair out. Duo makes a soft surprised noise, tensing but then relaxing when he realizes it isn’t an attack.

“Better,” Heero confirms.

“Should’ve just said something.”

Heero shrugs and after a sidelong look at Duo, pulls the hat on. It sits awkwardly on his head, his bangs feel pushed against his forehead, it probably looks ridiculous.

“No, no, like this — “ Duo steps closer, slides his fingers under the beanie’s brim to press Heero’s bangs down and lifts the hat up just a bit. “There.” Then he starts laughing. “You look ridiculous, honestly.” He pulls the hat off of Heero’s head, then his own, replaces them on the shelf.

“Not like myself?”

“Not at all. It makes you look cuddlier,” Duo’s smirk was meant to be a jibe. Heero scoffs, snatches the hats off the shelf again and heads towards the cash register. “Woah — hey — “

“You looked ridiculous too.” Heero points out.

Duo groans, but it’s the overly loud kind of groan where he hangs his head in mock defeat. Heero feels like it’s a moment of victory, even if Duo might have planned that as well. It wasn’t so bad when they both won. He tells the cashier not to bother with a bag and instead, the tags are snipped off with scissors and Heero jams the hat down on his head again, ignoring Duo’s fashion tips. Duo doesn’t tuck his braid under his beanie, this time, just lets it fall down his back and quirks a smile.

“Didn’t know you were so particular about my particulars.”

“It’s you,” is all Heero says by explanation, but just as Heero had been learning Duo over the years, the reverse was true. Duo laughs, easily and loops his arm with Heero’s. 

“So, now that we’ve done the embarrassing clothes shopping part, how about greasy food cart grub and a walk.”

“A normal outing.”

“Yeah, what, not normal enough for you?”

“It’s anything but normal.”

“Guess that’s true, not normal for us, huh?” Duo says. It’s Heero who leans closer as they walk, though, easily matching stride and shrinking the space between their linked elbows. 

“Exceptional,” Heero agrees. “And out of the ordinary.”

“Ever think we’d end up like this?” Duo steers them towards a cluster of food carts. There’s chicken on a stick, hot dogs, meat on a stick, hot dogs, chicken on rice, hot dogs and meat on rice. “Should we go traditional or splurge?”

Heero examines each cart. His intense stare makes the vendors a little uneasy and even Duo’s winning smile doesn’t really balance it out.

“Traditional.” Heero finally says and they choose the hot dog cart with the blue and yellow banner that says _BETTER OR WURST_. “This isn’t something I imagined I’d be doing.” He adds, in response to Duo’s first question.

“We’ll get two hot dogs, with everything,” Duo orders for them both and smirks. “And don’t say anything, Heero! A true man eats his ‘dog in style. All the trappings or you’re a coward.”

Heero shrugs. He’s eaten worse things that whatever _BETTER OR WURST_ could dig up, he’s sure. He also knows for a fact that Duo has. Only where Heero’s ‘worse’ things had been shapeless blocks of proteins or nutrients, calibrated from insects and engineered molecules for the best nutritional value possible, Duo had been dumpster diving.

The hot dogs are piled high with what looks to be an entire vegetable drawer. Pickles, peppers, cheese, ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, french fries, lettuce, radish and several things that looked like canned _something_ but were unidentifiable. 

“Now, _that’s_ a hot dog,” Duo says gleefully and promptly takes a bite out of his. The condiments drip down the sides of the bun and onto his face and hands but the wolfish look on Duo’s face seems not at all out of place. Heero is certain that when he takes a bite out of his own hot dog, he won’t look nearly as comfortable.

His suspicions were proven right when Duo’s chewing turns into almost-choking and a large glob of relish-mayo-lettuce hits the ground. 

“Life-threatening encounters, we’re back to routine.” Heero says.

Duo goes for another round of choking gasps, but it’s definitely more laughter. “Hell! You’re catching me off-guard in all sorts of ways today, Heero! Give a guy some warning! Aren’t we partners?”

“Hm,” Is the noncommittal reply.

“Good to know you have my back!”

“I’ll watch out for you on the walk.” Heero promises. Duo huffs, crams the rest of the hot dog into his mouth and wipes his fingers on his pants.

“You better. I think you still owe me for that one time.”

The one time was sometimes the time Heero scavenged Deathscythe. Or the time Heero blew himself up. Or the time after Mariemaia’s army when he disappeared for eight months. Or the punch. Or the other punch. Sometimes it was when Heero forgot to bring the coffee for the stakeout. 

“It’ll even out.”

Heero nods and offers his hand. He wears the same expression that he did when scrutinizing the food carts. He’s tracking every movement of Duo’s. His breathing and the way his fingers jump and twitch, basically pulling his arm forward to twine with Heero’s hand.

“I’m not letting you off easy this time.”

“A challenge.”

“You betcha!”

* * *

The bullet puts a hole through the ugly Christmas sweater Duo is wearing. It also tears through a few layers of skin and brushes past the muscle on his shoulder — a little more than a graze, but less than getting properly shot. With a curse, he drops to his stomach behind the torn barrier that is only partially drywall, the core concrete. Which was good, since next to him Heero wis poking at the new hole in his side. A hole that is more than just a graze.

“You just can’t get through a mission without getting shot, can you?” Duo asks, tone light but his expression pinches at the corners.

Heero snorts. Their stakeout had gone pear shaped rather suddenly. Their matching sweaters — _real couples have matching clothes, Heero!_ which he hadn’t argued at all, settling in both clothes were clothes and also he didn’t deny enjoying sharing something, even as ridiculous as that — would never be fit to wear again. He found that after the war, his thoughts ran like this. There wasn’t anything else to occupy his mind that ran so precise, still, when it came to combat.

Five targets, at nine, eleven, two, three, four o’clock. Two pistols, one shotgun, something automatic or semi.

Duo’s eyes flick down, then to Heero’s. Heero drops two fingers, three, flicks them in the clock directions of the attackers.

“Taking all the glory, huh?”

“If you can beat me to it, you’re welcome to.” Heero’s voice is flat and without warning he aims over the barrier and fires three times in a row, shifting his hand each time to find a new target with a bullet.

“You didn’t even give me fair warning!” Duo complains, sinking his two targets seconds later. 

The silence tells them both that either the danger has passed or the enemy is regrouping. Duo checks the bullets in both their guns and peeks over the barrier. 

“Shouldn’t have that much ammunition.” Heero reports softly but there’s that hitch in his voice that used to come out as laughter during battles. Duo finds it reassuring, because it’s no longer laughter but it’s a good sign that Heero’s still operating at close to 100%. 99% and shot in the side. Close enough really, for them. “Draw them in?”

“You asking me to play bait?”

“No. Draw them in.”

“You just want to show off with your manly muscles, but since you’re the one down for the count, let me show you the Maxwell specialty.” Duo tips an invisible hat to Heero and takes a survey of his options. He doesn’t have Heero’s ability to pinpoint a shot at four thousand paces, but he has something just as good. A peek over the barrier and Duo was off running.

The parking garage isn’t the best place for a shoot out, not with all the cars and pillars and barriers meant to direct cars to the right places. But it is perfect for him to slip around behind the few thugs — not even _real_ soldiers or militia — and snap necks. A clean simple movement that only took a few seconds, then he was off to the next post. It had really been dumb luck that Heero had gotten himself shot. The thugs were too disorganized to do much more than try to get a clear shot at where Heero was. Duo didn’t laugh, but the situation was almost funny. A weird mix of intel having their directions reversed, the thugs themselves being too chaotic to be easily predicted and Heero’s bizarre tendency to collect battle scars like most people did stamps.

By his count there were only two more, and then they’d have to call it in to the Preventers. Duo could imagine Une’s annoyance, over spent bullets and a complete wipe out on what should have been a simple stakeout.

All humor with the situation fades when he sees Heero stand up from behind the barrier. The tacky sweater — Duo picked it out — in all of its reindeer and Christmas ornament glory didn’t even look that bad. A few of the snowflakes had taken on the sick brown-pink that white wool does when stained with blood, but the red of the body of the sweater hid most of the blood.

“You fucking show-off,” Duo mutters as bullets spray down at Heero again. But that was why Heero did it, to pull their positions out again so he could pick them off. It was over in a matter of seconds, Heero already on the phone calling the office.

Being considerate, Duo waits until after Heero hangs up to jab his fingers into Heero’s side. Heero blocks the movement, catching Duo’s hand in his own and just holding on.

“You’re a selfish idiot.”

“It was more efficient.”

“Looking to get shot again?” Duo sighs, and thunks his forehead against Heero’s shoulder. “For all that we’re good at this partner thing sometimes we really fuck it up.”

“You didn’t check with me either,” Heero points out, but his other hand cups Duo’s cheek, fingers slide up into his hair. 

“I assumed that Mr. I Got Shot would stay put and let me do the heroics for once.”

“Never assume — “ Heero starts to quote Duo, but Duo interrupts.

“It makes an ass out of you and me, I know. Just wasn’t looking to carting your unconscious or bullet ridden body home.”

“We live in separate places.”

“Yeah.”

“So I should get shot more.” Heero’s thumb brushes across Duo’s cheek, trying to belie some of the terrible humor in his statement. Duo splutters, shoves at Heero’s shoulder and then lets out his tension in a laugh.

“How ‘bout this, not more getting shot and we’ll fix this whole separate places thing.”

“Acceptable.” Heero leans in and his lips are close enough to Duo’s that their breath mingles until he tilts his face away. “That goes for you as well.” Then he repeats the gesture, pressing his lips to Duo’s with force, as if to make up for the earlier miss. Duo returns the kiss, just as forcefully, but ruins it by laughing again.

“Can’t let me get the upper hand, can ya?” He pulls back just enough to ask. Heero smirks and squeezes his hand lightly.

“No.”

“Screw you, Heero Yuy.”

“Clean-up will be here soon.”

“That’s really romantic.” Duo sighs.

“Screw you, Duo Maxwell.” Heero replies, his voice carrying none of the playfulness Duo’s had, but the reliably even tone made Duo grin. 

“Guess we’re not really suited to normal stuff like candlelight dinners and gushy love confessions, huh?”

Heero snorts and plucks at the hem of his sweater.

“Did you want one?”

“A candlelit dinner? Yeah, take me out!” Duo presses closer, bumping their hips and mussing Heero’s hair. “Preferably, without shooting and stakeouts.”

“A love confession.”

Duo goes silent at that. Heero has his soldier face on, calm and full of focus. It isn’t an unreadable face, but there’s too many open ended questions. Heero’s sense of humor tended towards the same vein as Trowa’s dry deadpans, which made it difficult for situations like this.

“. . . only if it’s genuine.”

Heero untwines their hands so he can hold Duo’s face with both of his hands. “I’m in love with you, Duo.” He says it like the fate of the world rests on those words.

“Love you too, Heero.”


End file.
